Free Fall
by thatsmytrope
Summary: After a bullying incident at school, Tim is forced to move across the country to live with his Uncle Jethro. High school AU. Ensemble cast. Gen.
1. Chapter 1

**Warnings**: This is unashamedly a high school AU, so cliches abound! It will remain gen for the most part with no intentional character bashing, as I love team friendship fics. That is all. Thanks for your time. :)

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Free Fall

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Chapter 1: The Move

Free fall. That was the only way Tim could think to describe it.

He knew that the sensation of weightlessness people sometimes experienced in these situations was an illusion, that even if he were currently in a state of free-fall (which he was not), the absence of contact forces acting on his body, not the absence of weight, itself, would result in that unpleasant feeling of having the foundation suddenly crumble beneath your feet.

Yes, free fall felt like an appropriate word choice to his writer's mind as his mother's words rang in his ears.

He tongued the open cut on his bottom lip, a thrill of uncertainty rushing through his veins, "Maryland?"

"Maryland," his mother confirmed. "With your uncle."

The vague image of a man with dark hair and eyes like cold stone flitted across his brain, and he felt more than a little unsettled.

Incidentally, his uncle wasn't his uncle at all. Growing up, his father had, had no siblings, but he did have a cousin, one that was similar enough in looks and personality that most of the small Virginian town that had raised them just referred to as his father's brother; hence, the whole uncle thing. They'd grown apart in recent years for some reason or another. Tim, himself, had only met the man briefly, and he didn't much care for him. The thought of spending any amount of time alone with him was not a pleasant one.

"It's only for a little while, Timothy," his mother said gently, and his bruised face must have taken on a greenish hue for her to use such a tender voice. "Just while we figure out how to go forward."

His cheeks felt suddenly hot at the mere allusion to the day's earlier events, and he knew they had turned that awful scarlet color that they sometimes did when he felt any emotion intensely. The injustice of it all was almost too much to tolerate!

"They're the ones who beat me to a pulp, so why am I the one being punished? It's the middle of the semester; I've got a test in two days that I've been studying weeks for! How is this fair?"

Her warm hand closed over his. "This isn't a punishment, honey. It's a solution to a very serious problem that's gone on for too long. We want you to be safe, and your father and I think this is the best option."

His father...

Tim glanced sullenly down the hall toward the closed doors of a study. Most days, it seemed like the man couldn't even stand to be in the same room as him, much less look at him. Of course he'd think shipping his weakling son off to the other side of the country, out of sight and out of mind, was the best option; Tim could think of at least three equally effective, if not better, alternatives off the top of his head. But his father was a stubborn man, and this wasn't really about his safety anyway, it was about correcting a flaw. In the eyes of Admiral McGee, it seemed his son would always come up lacking.

"Yeah," Tim gingerly pressed a hand to his bruised ribs. He didn't feel weightless anymore, just empty. "Yeah, fine. I'll go. Whatever."

"It's going to be okay, sweetie." His mother smiled encouragingly. "Come on, let's get you back to bed. We'll talk with your father once he's off the phone with Uncle Jethro."

* * *

Uncle Jethro just might have been the most imposing man Tim had ever seen.

The grim figure was the first thing Tim saw as he stepped off the plane a little less than 48 hours after that late night conversation with his mother, and it was enough to make him want to immediately about-face and catch the next flight back to Alameda, schoolyard torturers be damned! He kept moving forward, though, noting as he did that the crowd awaiting other passengers had instinctively given the man a wide berth.

He was just as Tim remembered. The hairs around his temples were beginning to gray now, but the same solemn eyes stared out of a face that somehow seemed too worn to belong to a person younger than his dad.

He'd expected some sort of greeting, a hasty _Welcome!, _or at the very least, an inquiry about the ass kicking that had landed him here, the evidence of which was still painfully visible on his face. Instead, he got a silent gesture to follow the man, who turned on his heel and led the way through the busy airport and out to a haphazardly parked vehicle just outside the entrance.

As he hurriedly climbed into the passenger seat, Tim didn't think he remembered his uncle being quite so intimidating the last time they'd crossed paths, but then again, last time, he hadn't been alone in a car with the man and a loaded gun.

Uncle Jethro, his mother had told him on the way to the airport that morning, worked for the government. NCIS. Some Navy thing. Not quite the same as his dad's job, but no less important. _And don't let that macho exterior get to you_, _Timothy_, she'd said, _it's all for show_.

Twenty minutes later, Tim was pressing himself deep into the Charger's leather seat and clutching the door handle as the car skidded down a side street and nearly collided with oncoming traffic. The blueberry and walnut pancakes he'd eaten for breakfast that morning threatened to make a reappearance, and he swallowed convulsively. Uncle Jethro sighed and adjusted the AC, and Tim reminded himself to kindly inform his mother that the macho thing...yeah, that was most definitely genuine.

His mother had been confident that he and his uncle would like each other, and Tim had even felt slightly hopeful as she had cupped his cheek and sent him on his way with a kiss to the top of the head. He trusted her to never lie to him, so he choked down the knot of fear in his throat and tried to make the best of a crappy situation.

"Uh...th-thanks for doing this, Uncle Jethro. I know this is all kinda sudd-"

"Gibbs."

Tim was startled by the barked interjection. "Huh?"

"Call me Gibbs," the man repeated in a firm voice.

It took Tim a minute before comprehension set in, and when it did, he couldn't help but feel some measure of sympathy for the man. Maybe this is what they would bond over.

"My middle name is Irving," he blurted out eagerly, sounding too loud in the confined space. Uncle Jethro didn't show any sign of having heard him. "I'm just saying...I mean, I wanted to tell you, so you wouldn't feel so embarrassed."

"Embarrassed?" Gibbs asked evenly without taking his eyes off the road.

Losing any semblance of confidence he'd managed to build up, Tim rambled on, as he tended to do in such situations. "Well, yeah, of your name. Jethro," too late, Tim realized what he was saying, "Jethro isn't such...such a...um...I wouldn't think...these days...errr...Nevermind." Tim snapped his mouth shut before he could stick his foot in any further. So much for bonding.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Gibbs scrape his tongue against coffee-stained teeth.

That was certainly a look that promised imminent death.

Uncle Jethro, or Gibbs as he apparently preferred to be called, was going to find a way to make him disappear, and frankly, Tim wouldn't blame him. It was these very social skills, or lack thereof, that got him in trouble in California. Here he was half an hour into his stay on the east coast, and already he'd made an enemy.

The longer the silence between them drew on, the surer he was of his demise. Until...

"Irving, huh?" And if Tim didn't know any better, he'd swear he saw the other man's lip quirk in amusement as he spoke.

Maybe his mother was right.

* * *

Tim wasn't sure what he was expecting, but the family home before him certainly wasn't it. As far as he could recall, he had no aunts or cousins on his father's side of the family, but he had admittedly been quite content in his ignorance of them until now.

The neighborhood around them, he noticed, which had previously been a flurry of activity, lawn mowers and gardeners, neighbors chatting and children's games spilling out into the road, had come to a complete standstill the moment he stepped out of the car.

Visitors, it seemed, were a rarity at this address.

Was Gibbs so unpleasant that no one stopped by, or did the nature of his job keep him constantly away? The way the neighbors were staring at him, though, the way they whispered out of the corners of their mouths with wide eyes and crossed arms, you'd think he'd done something horrible. Gibbs was an outsider among them.

There was a story here, of course, and Tim loved a good story-so much so, that he had taken it upon himself to pen a few of his own when time allowed-and he would get to the bottom of this one eventually, but as it was, Gibbs had grabbed Tim's duffle bag and had already jogged up the porch steps without a backwards glance, the implication being that he should follow and follow fast.

Gibbs didn't seem like the sort of man who took insubordination well, so Tim hurried after him.

* * *

Several houses down, unbeknownst to Tim, dark eyes tracked his movements with great interest.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:** This is very much a teamfic. Other members will be joining in future chapters. Constructive criticism is always welcome. Thanks for your time!

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Free Fall

Chapter 2: The Neighbor

Somehow, Tim wasn't surprised when Gibbs skipped the grand tour.

"Bunk 's upstairs on the left," he said as he deposited Tim's duffle at the base of the steps.

The man lingered in the small foyer just long enough for Tim to get the feeling that maybe Gibbs was as unsure about these hurried arrangements as he was, but then he was turning down the hall and ducking through a doorway, which presumably led to a basement.

"Make yourself at home," Gibbs' voice ordered as the door clicked shut, leaving Tim to scratch his head and wonder at what his parents had gotten him into.

His uncle's brand of hospitality was…off-putting, but years of being known as the "_geek who couldn't speak_" left Tim eager to believe that, like him, Gibbs' actions or rather his inactions, as the case may be, were just being misconstrued. Maybe he'd finally met someone with worse communication skills than his own.

By the looks of it, Gibbs didn't have much a social life outside of work. Not only were there no pictures or personal affects, but there was hardly any furniture either. A lumpy couch and recliner crowded a water-stained coffee table in the living room, and just through the archway in the dining room were two pitifully matched lawn chairs pushed under a wooden table.

It was all so very different from what he was used to.

He just wasn't sure whether that was a good or bad thing.

With an ambivalent shrug, he picked up his bag and made his way to what would be his space for at least the rest of the semester. His room, like the rest of the second floor, smelled musty and unused. Tim's eyes scanned from wall to wall, noting with no small amount of displeasure, the extreme minimalist theme that seemed to carry throughout the house. He had been allotted a bed, a desk, and a chair—all of it mismatched and at least as old as his parents. It was a far cry from the full gaming setup he'd had back in Alameda.

And now that he thought on it, he didn't recall seeing a television or computer downstairs either.

Oh God…

His parents hadn't just sent him across the country, they'd sent him to the dark ages!

No friends, no family, no TV, no computer…just what the heck was he supposed to do here?

Tim stepped to the window, as a bubble of panic rose from his chest. He gazed at the neighbors who had already turned their backs to his uncle's house, and forced the old glass pane open against what must have been years of disuse. He leaned his head out for a few gulps of fresh air…and received a pebble to the eye instead.

"OW!" Tim jerked back, head slamming into the window in his haste to retreat. "Are you kidding me?!"

"Sorry!" A feminine voice chuckled from below sounding anything but apologetic. "I wasn't aiming for your head."

"What the hell were you aiming for?" he snapped, rubbing the sting out of his eye.

"The window. You looked a little on edge."

Vision still blurry, Tim cautiously stepped up to the window again. "You were watching me?"

"Well, yeah," the voice said simply. "When you pulled up, I figured you were being held against your will or something. No one around here ever actually sees _him_ coming or going, let alone being accompanied by guests…" Here the voice mock-whispered, "You are a guest, right? Do you want me to call the authorities?"

By now, the image of the girl had come into full focus. Tim could clearly make out the black pigtails, alabaster skin, and thick, smoky shadow that encircled her dark eyes. She was about his age, he estimated, as her slight frame stood in the shade of the Silver Maple out front.

"Well?" She prompted, and he realized with some embarrassment that he had been staring at her.

"Oh, um, no—"

"No, you're not a guest," she quickly cut in, and Tim could tell by the smirk she wore that she was just teasing him, "Or no, you don't want me to call the authorities?"

"You don't need to call the cops," he clarified. "I'm here of my own free will." _Well,_ s_ort of._ "Promise."

"Right," she said skeptically. "Who are you, then?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

"I'm Abby. I live down the street." She crossed her arms and tilted her head, "Your turn, mister."

"Tim, and I'm staying with my uncle for a while."

"But it's the middle of the school year…" When he didn't elaborate, Abby wisely continued on without comment. "Right, well, as much as I love yelling up at your window, my neck is starting to hurt, and I left my parasol on the porch." She held her arm up to her face for closer examination. "I hope I'm not getting a tan. Anyway, I've been working through the latest expansion pack for Captains of Industry."

"They actually released another one? That game blew!" Tim said it without thinking, but Abby apparently liked it enough to get the latest edition. And even if she had horrible taste in MMOs, she had been nice to him. He had to fix this, and fast! "I mean…it's…some people say it's…okay, I guess…"

"Relax, Timmy," she grinned, "It did blow. My great-aunt Nonna got it for me last May for the day of Glorious Revolution," at this, Tim crinkled his brow in confusion but Abby went on, "So I refuse to let it go to waste. Anyway, you should join me. We can make fun of it together."

Tim smiled back at her, feeling hopeful for the first time since his mother mentioned Maryland, like maybe this move could work out for the better after all. "Yeah, okay. I'll be down in a minute."

He shut the window, kicked his duffle under the bed, and headed downstairs. At some point, Gibbs had apparently taken a visitor, because hushed whispers were drifting from the kitchen.

Tim couldn't help but slow his steps, curiosity getting the better of him. Was it a co-worker? Were they discussing a case?

"You left him in the foyer?" Okay, so it wasn't work related, but it was still a topic of interest. "Jethro, it's his first day in a new town and a new house. Tomorrow, he'll start a new school and will have to make new friends. You didn't think you should at least show him around, maybe even get to know each other?"

The only answer the visitor received was a slow, noisy gulp of coffee, by the smell of it.

"Your stubbornness knows no bounds, does it? If you don't go upstairs and speak to that young man, I will."

Tim was surprised to find himself cheering for Gibbs in this battle. While he could certainly agree that being left in the foyer wasn't ideal, the thought of spending any amount of time trapped in a room with the man, attempting to communicate when both of them struggled with it in general just sounded miserable. The other guy's heart seemed in the right place, though.

"You don't have to do that, Duck,"

"So you'll go to him then?" This _Duck_ character seemed more delighted than he had any reason to be at the idea.

"No," which seemed to puzzle both Tim and the other man, "You don't have to go upstairs. Does he, Tim?" Gibbs peeked through the doorway, and grey eyes locked with Tim's own.

Oops! Tim felt his cheeks flush bright red at being caught.

An older gentleman with a red bow tie joined Gibbs. "Timothy! It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Dr. Donald Mallard—Ducky for short." He took Tim's hand and patted him on the shoulder. "How are you settling in, young man?"

"Uh, good. I'm good...and it's good to meet you, Dr. Mallard," How many times could he say _good_, he wondered, as he continued awkwardly shaking the other man's hand. Gibbs stood to the side, hiding his expression behind another gulp of coffee.

Tim cleared his throat and extricated his hand from Dr. Mallard's as politely as he could, grateful as he was that the doctor chose not to comment on the bruised mess that was his face. "Um, actually, that's why I came looking for you, Gibbs." He stuffed his hands in his pockets and chewed at his lip self-consciously. "I was wondering if I could go hang out with a friend for a while."

Both Gibbs' and Ducky's eyebrows shot up.

"Wonderful! You've already made a friend!" The look of elation on the doctor's face seemed to dim a bit, but his uncle spoke up before Tim could linger too long on it.

"Be back before dark," Gibbs said, and though it was spoken softly and followed by a mere sip from his mug, Tim immediately understood that an unspoken "or else" followed that statement.

Tim flashed a brief smile and turned on his heel, eager to put some distance between himself and the stuffy house, even more so to rejoin Abby's company.

Just before the front door clicked shut, he thought he heard a confused Dr. Mallard whisper, "He made a friend whilst alone in his room?"

"Took you long enough!" Abby punctuated her sentence with a punch to the arm.

"Ow! Abby, I'm starting notice a pattern, here. Hasn't anyone ever told you that violence is the last refuge of the incompetent?"

"Hasn't anyone ever told you not to keep a girl waiting?"

Tim rubbed at his arm, "Fair enough, I suppose."

"What took you so long, anyway?" She asked as she hopped off the porch, various chains and buckles jangling as her boots hit the ground.

"Uh, nothing really, but I think Dr. Mallard thinks I've got an imaginary friend."

"Who?"

"Dr. Mallard. He's Gibbs'…nevermind."

Abby stared at him from underneath her heavy bangs. "Timmy, don't take this the wrong way, but you're kind of strange." She scratched at her spiky choker with black-painted nails. "I like it."

**TBC**


End file.
